


I Never Thought(We'd End Up Together)

by treeofworlds



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:37:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3428078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treeofworlds/pseuds/treeofworlds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is firmly under the spell of dragon sickness, and all Bilbo wants is to go home. Luckily Thorin is not so far gone that he refuses to let him leave, and even assigns Kili and Fili to guard him on his journey back to the Shire.<br/>Only then they just...stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Thought(We'd End Up Together)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [driedupwishes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedupwishes/gifts).



> This was actually intended to be driedupwishes' christmas fic, and also only a one shot. Instead it's two months late and almost fifteen thousand words. But it is gonna be uploaded on her birthday, as well as(hopefully) her other fic I'm writing her.  
> Oops?  
> Disclaimer: I don't own the hobbit, just Caitlin's screams when she reads this.

Bilbo watched Smaug die only a few hours ago, and still can't quite believe it, if he's being honest with himself. Unfortunately, given the circumstances, there are more important things to focus on than a dragon who is currently too dead to hurt anyone else.  
Like Thorin.  
The King under the Mountain is firmly under the thrall of dragon sickness. His newly recovered golden treasure trove has bespelled him, glinting softly under the torchlight and invading his mind, sinking dark tendrils into his thoughts and slowly but surely driving him towards insanity. Since the dragon died, Thorin has only become more obsessed with finding the Arkenstone, ordering the dwarves and even Bilbo to spend every waking moment searching through the golden slopes, digging through coins and gems and necklaces and goblets and objects Bilbo never imagined he would see drawings of, let alone the actual objects themselves; he never imaged that he would be tossing countless precious things aside in search for the stone that lies in his pocket.  
Not that anyone else know, of course, and a good thing, too. Thorin becomes more deeply entranced by the treasure as the minutes tick by, and Bilbo has his suspicions that presenting him with the gem will not aid matters.  
Thorin's frenzied, desperate motions turn Bilbo's stomach, and he can't stand to see his friend like this. But all attempts to sway him from his objective fall flat. Every time someone suggests postponing the search for the king's gem, Thorin runs a hand over the hilt of his sword, and fumes until the hunger for the gem once again consumes him, and then he returns to digging through piles of gold with his bare hands.  
“Thorin?”  
The king is sweaty and pale, tossing handfuls of gold over his broad shoulder in the middle of the night, and Bilbo has come to persuade him to sleep, fearing for his health.  
“What is it, Master Baggins?” Thorin sounds softer than he does with the others, though his words are no less harsh.  
“Please go to bed, Thorin.” Bilbo sighs, fisting his hands by his sides. “You need to sleep.”  
“I shall sleep when I find the Arkenstone.” The dwarf's gruff voice has an unmistakable line of tension running under it, and Bilbo grits his teeth. He has had about enough of stubborn dwarves and their nonsense.  
“Thorin, you are of no use to any of us when you're exhausted. You cannot find the stone if you are dead on your feet!”  
He waits for the inevitable outburst, with the stone burning against his side where it rests, but instead Thorin's shoulders drop and he sags where he crouches. Bilbo takes a few tentative steps towards him, and when Thorin doesn't react, lays a hand on his shoulder. Thorin visibly relaxes, however infinitesimally.  
“Bed, your majesty.” Bilbo says softly, urging him upwards. Thorin stumbles after him clumsily, suddenly revealing that he is so tired he can barely stay upright, but he makes it to where the company have been sleeping, and Bilbo manages to get him to remove his boots, and wrap himself up in his furs.  
The small (probably temporary)victory makes the hobbit feel better, if only a little, and he manages to fall asleep and rest properly for the first time in a long time. When he wakes up, Thorin is still sleeping peacefully, and the lines marking his face are already less pronounced.  
“Who managed to get Thorin to sleep?” Balin whispers, quiet as a mouse. His eyebrows are attempting to rise into his hair.  
“I did.” Bilbo stretches under his furs, his voice thick with sleep.  
“How did you manage that, Bilbo?” His soft voice travels gently to the hobbit. He laughs almost silently as he sits up, smiling wryly.  
“I shouted at him.” Bilbo admits. “He was still digging in the wee hours, and I told him he couldn't find the damn stone if he was dead on his feet. And then he let me make him sleep.”  
“I'm surprised he isn't already up.” Balin chuckles under his breath.  
“He hasn't slept in days. He needed the rest. He would have collapsed if I had left him much longer, I believe.” Bilbo yawns. “We ought to wake him soon, though, or he might rise at noon and sentence us all to death for wasting daylight.”  
The joke falls flat in the quiet of the morning. The truth is, none of them really know if Bilbo's statement is true, and given the deteriorating state of the King's mind, none of them particularly want to risk it.

Thorin's hasn't even spoken of Fili and Kili. Bilbo wonders if that is a sign, an indicator that the dwarf is lost. He resolves to discuss it with Thorin today, once the King is awake, perhaps ask him to send someone to accompany the boys, Bofur, and Oin to the mountain and bring their company together once again.  
For now though, Bilbo feels as though food is a more urgent mission. He and Balin, through a series of complex hand gestures and a lot of frowning, manage to communicate that the pair of them will go and prepare breakfast, leaving the others to sleep for a little longer. They potter around quietly gathering bread and cheese and water, and meagre though it is, Bilbo knows that the food will make them all feel better. Balin shakes all the dwarves but Thorin awake, leaving the king for Bilbo.  
“Since you were so good with him last night, lad.” He explains, ducking away quickly. Bilbo feels a little flutter of nerves in his stomach, like the butterflies from Mirkwood have taken up residence in his gut. Setting down the bread and cheese beside the pallet, he shakes Thorin's shoulder gently. The king grumbles into his arm, where his head is nestled, and burrows further into his furs.  
“Thorin?”  
“Mm?” Thorin cracks open one eye and glares balefully up at the hobbit. He squints grumpily when the light hits his eyes, squeezing them shut again briefly.  
“I brought you breakfast.” Bilbo explains, feeling almost unbearably fond of the dwarf. His heart patters in his chest as Thorin sits up, all messy hair and sleepy eyes, so he hands him the food to distract himself.  
“Thank you, Master Baggins. For the food and for...persuading me to sleep.”  
Bilbo chances a smile up at him, suppressing his desire to leap up and yell 'I told you so!', and is pleasantly surprised when he sees that Thorin is smiling gently back at him.  
“My pleasure, Thorin.”

All the dwarves are awake now, and tearing into their food, bleary eyed and eyeing Thorin warily, although he is in much better spirits than before he slept. The room is full of snuffling noises, belching, and a single bout of hiccups from Bilbo, until Thorin finishes eating and stands immediately, stretching the kinks out of his joints. Immediately the air is thick with tension, and those in the room look towards their king as he stretches. Bilbo struggles not to stare at the strip of skin revealed at Thorin's waist as his shirt lifts up, instead crumbling a piece of bread between his fingers.  
“I want everyone to start searching for the stone again.” Thorin rumbles. “You may eat, of course.”  
Everyone begins to chew noticeably more slowly. Thorin whirls around and leaves the room, and Bilbo can see the set of his shoulders tightening in the already familiar sign of dragon sickness.  
“Very gracious of you, your majesty.” Dwalin growls lowly, just quietly enough for the occupants of the room to hear him, and Thorin to not. He sulkily chews on a bite of bread and glowers at the wall, his tattoos wrinkling with the force of his displeasure. Bilbo sighs as he finishes his own food, a brief flash of nostalgia for second breakfast working its way through his thoughts.  
“Well,” He says, standing up and brushing the crumbs from his clothes, “Better get back to it, I suppose.” He sends a smile to the dwarves, hoping it doesn't look as insincere as it feels, and exits the room. As he pads down the corridor towards the treasure hove, he can hear Thorin already throwing countless jewels aside. They clatter down onto coins, goblets, and more, ringing out discordant clanking sounds that cut through Bilbo as he gets closer.  
Days pass in the same fashion, Thorin desperately seeking the figurehead of his power, and Bilbo resorting to every trick he can to get him to at least eat and sleep. Finally, he uses the only trick he has left, and it is a dirty one, at that, one he wishes he had not considered using at all.  
“Thorin, what of your sister sons? You do not even know if they live, after the attack on Laketown! The dragon could have burned them to ashes and instead of looking for them, you dig through stolen treasure!”  
Thorin whirls around, his face thunderous, and grasps Bilbo by the front of his coat.  
“This treasure was stolen by the worm, Master Baggins, and has been returned to its rightful owner. If the boys live, they will come to me. But I cannot, and will not, care about a maybe while the Arkenstone lies within these halls and not within my possession!” He roars, spittle flying everywhere.  
It is the first time that Bilbo has been truly scared of Thorin. He apologises shakily, and collapses when Thorin releases his coat; drops back down onto the coins.  
“Do not challenge me again, burglar.” The dwarf makes it sound like a curse, like Bilbo is horse dung on his boot. Bilbo manages a nod and then runs, hiding in a room that looks empty, and gasps for breath for minutes, hoping he is not falling apart loudly enough for anyone to hear. A small noise attracts his attention and he turns his head to see Balin in the doorway, shaking his head, tears in his eyes.  
“I warned him. Dragon sickness, just like his grandfather.” The old dwarf sounds broken, like his worst fears have come true. And in a way, he supposes, they have. Thorin is suffering from dragon sickness, four of the company are somewhere in Laketown, possibly dead. Bilbo can't decide whether his energy is better spent fretting over Thorin or wondering whether the boys are alive. Neither seems to be doing much good, yet he can't do anything but worry.  
He wasn't expecting to become emotionally attached to a company of loud, brash dwarves.  
“Would it help? If someone found the Arkenstone, if someone gave it to him?” Bilbo ignores the feeling of guilt which overwhelms him at keeping the stone hidden all this time, and looks at Balin, who shakes his head sadly, a stray tear dampening a patch of his beard.  
“I fear it would only make it worse, lad.” Balin dries his eyes on his beard, and straightens up, patting Bilbo on the shoulder as he leaves. Bilbo drops his head into his hands.

He doesn't know what to do.

Instead of sitting and moping, he blows his nose on his much coveted handkerchief, stuffs it in his pocket, and sets about finding a store room of some sort. If he can't help Thorin get well again, if he can't find the boys and Bofur and Oin, then he can at least clean, and goodness knows the mountain needs it. He finds, after hours of searching (and maybe a bit of avoiding Thorin), a cupboard with brooms and buckets and scrubbing brushes.  
He takes several buckets to the small stream that Bifur found running through the mountain, right at the side, and fills them with water, then sets about scrubbing the sleeping area, sweeping and cursing at cobwebs. By the time he comes back to himself, the room is spotless (as much as rock can be spotless, anyway), and mostly dry, so no one will get damp in their sleep. One by one, the dwarves make their way back, and exclaim at the newly cobweb free room.  
“Someone needed to do it.” Is all Bilbo tells them. They eat more bread and cheese, and sleep uneasily, listening to Thorin dig down the hall, muffled curses drifting up to them eerily. Bilbo doesn't think his efforts to keep Thorin healthy (in body only, there isn't anything he can do for his mind unless Thorin wants him to help) will be welcomed tonight.  
They wake to a surprise.

Fili and Kili have journeyed to the mountain, along with Bofur and Oin, and despite his limp, Kili no longer looks as though he will crumble into ashes with a gust of wind.  
“Boys!” Bilbo is crying, endlessly relieved and grateful that they are alive, and here. The only thing that puts a slight damper on their moods is the fact that Thorin is nowhere to be found. The last time Bilbo glimpsed him, from afar as he went to fetch more water, was the throne, perched broodily on it, glowering at nothing.  
“Bilbo!” The hobbit is enveloped in an eager embrace by the two young dwarves, and he doesn't try to hide his tears, because they're weeping, too. They stand in a soggy, emotional mess for an endless moment, joined by Balin at one point, and then a gradual trickle of the others as they hear of the boys arrival.  
All except Thorin.  
“Where is Uncle?” Kili asks, looking oh so young. No one replies. No one knows what to say.  
“He's tidying!” Bilbo suddenly blurts.  
“Tidying?” Fili repeats. “Uncle is tidying. Are you certain?” He sounds disbelieving, swapping incredulous looks with his brother.  
“It's very messy down there, you know.” Nori offers.  
“Dragons aren't the neatest of creatures.” Gloin hooks his thumbs into his belt and rocks on his heels.  
“And they smell horrendous, too.” Bombur takes the conversation on a tangent, and it distracts the boys well enough, and they immediately begin to discuss their opinions on the worst smells in Middle Earth.  
“Trolls smell better than dragons, I think, Kili.” Fili's cheeks are flushed and he's grinning, finally looking like the young dwarf he is.  
“If you want to call it better, brother. I would say that dragons smell worse than trolls.”  
They devolve into an argument about the wording of their previous argument, and Bilbo sighs fondly, quietly thankful that they're distracted enough to not ask about Thorin for a while longer.

“Uncle has never tidied anything in his life.” Fili announces suddenly, a few hours later. “By Aule, he's dying, isn't he.” Kili's head shoots up and they both stare at Bilbo worriedly.  
“Fili, my dear boy, this mountain has been occupied by a dragon for decades. Your uncle simply wants it to be in tip top shape as soon as possible.” Balin calms the princes quickly, and Bilbo relaxes infinitesimally.  
When the boys fall asleep after eating a simple stew, using the supplies they brought from Laketown, Bilbo stays awake for hours, worrying over how to tell the boys that their uncle will likely barely recognise them past dragon sick eyes.  
In the end he doesn't get the chance. Thorin stomps in, waking them all up with his noise. Bilbo bolts upright mumbling, leftover fragments of dreams spilling from his mouth.  
“Don't boil the eggs, Lobelia!” He squeaks.  
“What?” Kili is yawning so widely his jaw cracks, and he winces, rubbing his chin sleepily.  
“Just a dream.” Bilbo mutters, side-eyeing Thorin. Fili is still asleep, and Kili is barely awake himself, not yet realising his uncle has already seen both boys and disregarded them with a huff of air.  
“Oh, okay.” Kili settles back down on his furs, and his head barely touches them before his eyes widen in realisation and he leaps up. “Uncle!”  
Thorin merely grunts in reply and collapses on his pallet, asleep before Kili can even frown in consternation.  
“Uncle?” Kili sounds heartbroken in the way that only the very young can really manage, and Bilbo is entirely too awake now, so he gets up and leads Kili out the room by his elbow, and quietly explains the situation to the young dwarf.  
“Dragon sickness?” Kili has obviously heard the stories of his uncle's grandfather, knows why dragon sickness is maybe the worst thing that can happen to a dwarf, knows it will likely drive his kin insane. “It can't be dragon sickness, Bilbo. No one ever comes back from dragon sickness!”  
Bilbo says nothing at that, doesn't even know what he could say. Kili leans against the wall, almost grey with fear for his uncle, and rubs absently at his wounded thigh.  
“How did you get better so fast, anyway?” Bilbo asks, and he knows he has succeeded at distracting Kili when the boy blushes bright red behind his scruff.  
“The elf from Mirkwood, Tauriel. She healed me.” He says, misty eyed. “It was glorious.”  
Bilbo smiles, glad that Kili can still be distracted with talk of the elf, the captain of the guard.  
“Oh, it was glorious, was it?” The hobbit teases. Kili blushes an even deeper shade of red, and shuffles his feet slightly, wincing as his wound stretches slightly.  
“Well. Elf magic is very impressive.” He chews his lips. “Do you think the elves could help Uncle?” He brightens considerably as he asks, obviously hoping for miracles. Bilbo doesn't want to ruin his newly improved mood, so he shrugs.  
“It is possible, I suppose. We shall have to speak with one of the elves at some point soon.” He hedges, even though he has very little hope in it, as elf magic tends to heal the body, rather than the mind. But with Kili looking so hopeful he can't say no flat out to him.  
“I can talk to Tauriel, if you like.” He tries to look nonchalant as he suggests it, and Bilbo can see that he mostly just wants to see Tauriel again. The hobbit personally doesn't think all the hostility between the two races will allow the romance between the two to blossom, but he supposes there isn't any harm in Kili being happy whilst he can.  
“That would be very useful, Kili.” He says. “Now, let's see if we can't do something about breakfast, shall we?”

For the next week, Bilbo manages to keep Fili away from Thorin, with Kili's aid, and enlists the pair of them in cleaning with him, rather than looking for the Arkenstone with the other dwarves, and for a while, it works, but then one evening, Fili tries to get his uncle's attention and the older dwarf just blanks him.  
“Uncle Thorin?” The blond dwarf tries again, but Thorin just mutters to himself and carries on pawing through piles of treasure.  
“Where is it, where is it?” He says, over and over again.  
“Uncle Thorin? Can you hear me?” Fili edges closer, shifting his weight carefully over the unstable coins. “Uncle?”  
Still nothing, and Fili puts a hand on Thorin's shoulder. The king immediately whirls around and pushes his nephew away, barely glancing back as he falls backwards into the cold metal.  
“Thorin, what are you doing?” Bilbo hisses, completely appalled at the dwarf's behaviour. “That's your nephew!”  
“I will not be halted in my search.” Thorin says flatly, not even looking at either of them. Bilbo helps the stunned Fili upright, and drags him away, leaning forward to compensate for his desire to knock some sense into his blood uncle.  
Bilbo would probably end up joining him, too.  
When he is sufficiently far enough away that Bilbo is confident that the echoes of his voice won't reach Thorin, Bilbo stops and looks up at Fili.  
“What is wrong with my Uncle?” He asks sternly, looking far older than he is.  
“Dragon sickness.” Bilbo doesn't beat around the bush. Fili deserves better than that, after how Thorin just treated him.  
The younger dwarf slumps against the wall, almost exactly how his brother did, mirroring the pose unconsciously. They must have been doing it all their lives, the two of them, leaning against the wall and chewing their lips.

 

 

After the Battle of Five Armies, Kili and Fili both lean against a wall together, bloody and bruised, but alive, yet despite the relief at their survival, Bilbo will forever remember the battle as the worst experience of his life. But that is where the battle will remain, in his memories, in his nightmares, where it will doubtless lurk for years to come. What had been done had been done and what mattered now were the lives to be saved.  
Thorin permits them several days to recuperate, even in the midst of dragon sickness recognising the need for sleep and food and allowing wounds to heal. This is where Tauriel is most helpful, as she journeys back to the mountain with them. Bilbo learns of her banishment, and expresses his utmost sorrow for the narrow minded nature of her sovereign. She seems distant, like she's focusing on not being sad, and occasionally he catches her throwing glances of relief at Kili as he limps along a long stone corridor after they return, likely at the fact that he lives. It seems the affection is present on both sides, Bilbo muses. He even finds himself smiling at the two of them when they brush fingers as they pass each other. It seems battle has softened his travel weary heart a little.  
Really, the only issue now is Thorin, and Bilbo is beginning to worry that he's going to knock Kili's head off. Every time the younger dwarf makes a comment about 'dragon dung' or 'useless gold', or on one memorable occasion, 'that ugly bauble', used in reference to the Arkenstone, Bilbo gets a little more worried, Thorin winding tighter and tighter at each comment, at each day they do not find the stone. Fili worries Bilbo most of all, as the blond dwarf does not attempt to stop his brother from taunting Thorin, and spends hours at a time staring impassively at mounds of golden coins.

Thorin is close to killing his nephew, blood or not, as Kili has now refused to search for a 'useless trinket, Uncle Thorin, you are a King in your own right, and I bet it smells of dragon dung anyway', and as Fili watches gold and stirs the thought of dragon sickness afflicting him as well in Bilbo's mind, and a line of tension holds more firmly in Thorin's shoulders with each passing minute, Bilbo grows more and more distressed. Finally, he collapses in a cupboard (the same one he discovered the brooms and buckets in, actually) and rests his head against the wall, sighing deeply and muttering vile things under his breath about cursed treasure and the inability to aid Thorin's health(Tauriel had confirmed his fears about elven magic, much to Kili's anguish). Lobelia would likely faint if she heard him, and good thing too, Bilbo thinks viciously. Then the thought of Fili and Kili sneaks into his head once more and he spends a solid ten minutes fretting over whether Fili also suffers from dragon sickness or if he's just scared for his uncle.  
Luckily, this is also when Fili knocks on the door and asks him if he is well.  
“Not really.” Bilbo answers wearily. There's a pause, and then Fili opens the door, crouching by Bilbo and peering at him worriedly.  
“What's the matter?”  
“You mean asides from your uncle, Kili baiting him with every breath, and the Arkenstone not found?” Bilbo huffs an exhausted laugh. Fili regards him carefully, and finally sits on the upturned bucket next to Bilbo.  
“If I ever turn into that, drag me back to the Shire and make sure you knock my head into every rock along the way.” He sounds only slightly tired; more furious with the susceptibility of his uncle than anything else.  
“Don't tempt me, Fili, I might just try that with your blasted, stone brained uncle right this moment.” A beat and then, “I miss my hobbit hole.”  
“You want to go home.” It isn't phrased as a question, but Bilbo nods anyway, giving a non verbal answer.  
“I'm tired of stone and blood and watching Thorin destroy himself and everything he has worked for. This mountain is poisonous. I won't watch him do this to himself. Not when I know he's strong enough to help himself.” Bilbo drops his head back against the wall, a habit he seems to have picked up on their travels, and winces as his head makes a sharp crack sound.  
"I'm not doing any good here. I just want to go home." His voice breaks on the last word, and Fili drops a big hand on his shoulder.  
"It's not your fault, Bilbo, Uncle knew the risks, he was just too stubborn to listen."  
Bilbo knows, logically, that none of this is his fault, but he can't help but feel responsible when the Arkenstone lies in his pocket.  
"I suppose you're right." Bilbo replies, though he doesn't feel any better.  
Fili smiles sadly, and stands.  
"I'll talk to Uncle. Even like this, he's bound to let you go home."  
Bilbo sends Fili a grateful smile, and nods.  
It's time to go home. 

A week later, Bilbo has his pack on his shoulders, laden with supplies and little bits and pieces that he has picked up over the journey to the mountain. He's clad in warm clothes; winter is creeping in; and he's sad to be leaving but relieved that he doesn't have to watch Thorin's destructive behaviour spiral. The king was surprisingly reluctant for Bilbo to depart, but acquiesced after Bilbo claimed he was homesick. Bilbo is of the opinion that had he been sound of mind, he would not have wanted Bilbo to leave at all, but the quest for the Arkenstone is all consuming and so his will is weakened.  
He bids farewell to the dwarves, and hugs each of them in turn.  
"If you ever pass through Bag End, tea is at four. You are welcome any time. Don't bother knocking!" He sniffs tearfully.  
Thorin is nowhere to be found, and Bilbo feels a small pang of heartache in his chest, but leaves regardless. He has only gone as far as the bridge when his name is shouted from behind him.  
"Bilbo!"  
He turns, puzzled, to see Kili and Fili running after him, packs on their shoulders and hair flying in the wind.  
"Boys, what are you doing?"  
Fili skids to a stop in front of him.  
"Uncle said we had to escort you home. It isn't safe for you to go alone." He sounds officious. Kili nods frantically in agreement, braids whipping about in the wind.  
"What about Tauriel?" Bilbo eyes Kili suspiciously. He looks far too happy to be leaving the elf behind.  
Kili grins.  
"She's coming with us!" He crows. "She knows Rivendell better than we do, and we could use another fighter." Kili reasons. "She offered to come. I think she's as sick of the mountain as we...you are."  
Bilbo narrows his eyes. The prince is right, it will be easier with such a skilled fighter as the she-elf, but Kili's quickly mumbled slip dances on the edge of his mind before he decides that he doesn't have the energy to care and lets it slip away.  
"Well, then. We shall have to wait for her, shan't we?"  
Kili's eyes light up, and Fili rolls his own at his brother's expression, but can't quite hide his smile.  
Tauriel gracefully climbs down the rope hanging from the mountain, practically flying down, and Kili watches with rapt attention. She brushes non existent gravel dust from her garments, and takes long strides towards the three of them, smiling gently.  
“Bilbo. Fili.” Her eyes soften. “Kili.”  
The young prince sends her a beautific smile, and the pair keep eye contact for long moments until Fili mentions 'wasting daylight'. They set off, throwing glances at the mountain as it fades into the distance, the early dawn light failing to illuminate it for long. By midday, they have travelled as far as Laketown, and Tauriel is insistent that they stop, for if they travel for any longer they will have nowhere to camp, and she wishes to avoid sleeping in the open for as long as possible. Kili, of course, is akin to a puppy in his agreement with her, and Fili reluctantly agrees with the elf that it is better to avoid endangering themselves so early in the journey, when there are alternatives.

Entering Laketown is like entering a ghost town. As Fili pushes them through the water with easy movements, looks of confusion spread across the travellers' faces.  
“Where is everyone?” Kili wonders, balancing in the bow of the boat. Tauriel is sharp as a blade as she watches their surroundings carefully, on the lookout for danger.  
“I hear nothing.” Fili whispers, almost afraid to break the eerie silence of the waterways.  
There is barely wind.” Tauriel murmurs. “The townspeople must have fled from the dragon, then the fighting. There is no one here. No orcs. No people. No birds. We will be safe here, for tonight.”  
They bunk down in the warmest of the houses, though they are not warm at all, and the night passes in chills and sharing warmth by pressing together in a heap of furs and shivers.

The journey passes quickly and before Bilbo knows it, they are in Rivendell and Elrond is greeting them with his aloof, serious expression. It holds a glimmer of warmth, and he bids them safe passage through his lands for as long as they need, sweeping grandly over the cobblestones of his courtyard.  
They spend a very pleasant two weeks there, feasting and making merry with elves, joyful in the night. Kili vanishes one evening, and on his way to bed later on, Bilbo finds him sitting alone, watching the stars and smiling at the raucous laughter echoing through the halls.  
“Kili, you are not joining us tonight?” He asks, concerned.  
“She loves the stars. She says they are memory.” Kili turns his head to look at Bilbo. “I should very much like to remember this.” Bilbo lays a soft hand on his shoulder, squeezing briefly, and leaves the dwarf there alone, awash in pale light, casting thin shadows on stone and listening to the sounds of night. As he leaves, he sees Tauriel join Kili, both of them sitting in silence, watching glimmers of untouchable, impossible light in the blackness of the sky, listening to cicadas sing.

When they finally cross the borders of the Shire, Bilbo feels home settle into his bones, and he finally relaxes after months of toil and sweat and blood.  
Then they reach his hobbit hole, and he promptly tenses again.  
“What,” He proclaims loudly, “Is Lobelia Sackville-Baggins doing with my spoons?”  
An approximate hoard of hobbits, short and round and surprised, turn to face the four travellers with confusion. Their confusion doubles as they spy two dwarves, a tall, slender, red haired elf, and one hobbit, trembling with incandescent rage.  
“Who are you?” The silver'd hobbit at the auction box demands.  
“I,” Bilbo practically shrieks, “Am Bilbo Baggins. And these are my things you are taking!” He points at where two hobbits are carrying his armchair down the lane.  
“How do we know you're Bilbo?” A rotund, red cheeked lady in the front says.  
“I have lived here all of my life, Marigold Primula.” Bilbo is suddenly weary, so weary. He glowers (tiredly) at the people gathered in front of his home.  
“Not all of your life. You've been gone for over a year, you realise.” She huffs.  
“You obviously recognise me! Give me my belongings back!” Bilbo exclaims.  
“We require a signature. To confirm that you are indeed, Mr Baggins. You were assumed dead, you know.” Bilbo shouts wordlessly, and shrugs his pack from his shoulders, rummaging through it until he finds his contract of employment. Ignoring Thorin's signature, he flips through the pages, grins triumphantly and shoves the parchment at the auctioneer's face, who settles half moon glasses on his nose and squints.  
“Welcome home, Mr Baggins.”  
A chorus of groans rumbles through the crowd and all Bilbo's belongings are set down in the dust sulkily. Before long, the group have dispersed, although Bilbo does have to chase Lobelia down and wrestle the spoons away from her.  
“I did not sneak into a mountain under a dragon's nose to let Lobelia Sackville-Baggins take my silver spoons.” He grumbles, stomping into his hallway. Kili, Fili, and Tauriel follow, bemused, the latter ducking dramatically to avoid knocking her head into the support beams.  
“He reminds me of Uncle when he pulls that face.” Fili whispers.  
“I can hear you.” Bilbo snaps without turning around. There's a pause, and then Kili says,  
“Uncle does that, too.”  
Tauriel snorts quietly, and it's such a surprising noise, coming from a dignified creature like her, that Bilbo starts laughing too, and the boys quickly follow.  
Even the thought that they wouldn't have laughed like this in the mountain doesn't ruin his mood.  
Bilbo is home.  
Bilbo is home, and he doesn't have to watch Thorin destroy himself, and he can fill his pantry with good food once more, and finally have a full belly.  
The four of them leave their packs in the living room, and head to the river to wash and catch some fish for dinner, and once he is clean again, and dressed in fresh clothes (his own, for once), Bilbo heads to market to buy some other necessities. Potatoes, for one. That is something he will teach any child that he comes across. Potatoes are good for everything, including using as weapons. He once knew of a Took, a long time ago, who used a potato catapult very effectively.  
Odd fellow.  
Once his groceries are in the pantry, Bilbo directs his three companions to clean and bring his things indoors, as he pitches in himself. After a short while, he directs Tauriel to his neglected garden, seeing how she has difficulty in his small, low ceilinged home. She settles in merrily, evidently happier with her fingers in the earth. Kili sends her small glances through the window, and Bilbo can't help but smirk at Fili; really; it's so amusing to see a lovesick dwarf in a hobbit hole, gazing at an elf.  
A week passes, the boys and Tauriel stay. Two weeks, and they send a raven to the mountain to ask if they can stay for a while. A month, and the reply is evidently 'stay for as long as Mr Baggins will have you'.

Bilbo couldn't be happier. He left the mountain expecting to return (alone) to his (empty) home, just as alone as he had always been. Too strange to be a Baggins, too ordinary to be a Took, and cooking for one, always.  
His always has changed a bit, he thinks. The boys fill his hallways with noise, laughter and petty arguments and mess, and even as he gripes at them to clear up after themselves and stop tracking mud all over the place, he smiles. Tauriel cooks like a wonder, they discover, after she returns from a jaunt in the nearby forest with a brace of rabbits and makes a stew to die for, still learning not to knock her head on the beams of the rooms. She even manages to breathe life into his vegetable patch, growing varieties of food he hasn't heard of but enjoys in the varying ways they are cooked anyway.  
“How do you grow them so well?” Bilbo poses the question one night, watching Fili and Kili splash each other in the creek at the end of Bilbo's garden. Tauriel watches fondly as water drips from Kili's braids, and Bilbo smokes his pipe, puffing shapes into the air absently.  
“I sing to them.” She says, and blows his smoke ring into a fuzzy ring in the air.  
“And that helps?” A year ago, Bilbo would have scoffed at the idea. After the things he has seen, he can believe a lot. Fili and Kili flop down beside them, wet and panting, happy. Tauriel moves a strand of Kili's damp hair from her lap without thought, and doesn't seem to notice him staring at her in surprise.  
“It does.” She twists a long wisp of hair around one slender finger, deep in thought, by the vacant stare on her face. “My mother taught me the song.” She hums a few bars, melodic and low in the dusk, with the breeze whispering around them and water trickling in the near distance. The hairs on Bilbo's arms stand up. Though the song is eerie, and barely there, he can feel something in the notes that tells of power, warmth and life and greenness all wrapped into one. Kili contemplates her with uncurbed affection, and Fili is lying on the grass, hands behind his head, a giant smile plastered onto his face. He looks to be almost asleep, and his shoulders are loose and pliant with pleased relaxation. Bilbo blows out a long stream of smoke, too lazy to give it shape, and watches it curl into the air and drift away on the wind.  
“It's beautiful.” He says simply. They lapse into comfortable silence, one dwarf asleep under the moonlight, and the other staring at Tauriel like she is the sun. Bilbo chews the end of his pipe thoughtfully, and eventually gets up, wanders down the lawn, enjoying the dew wet grass on his feet. From the bottom of his garden you can see most of the Shire; lights in windows, the dark shadows of forest, and moonlight shining on water, the river that leads to Bree. Turning back to the house, he nudges Fili awake, and tows the sleepy dwarf to the room he has been sleeping in. Fili falls asleep again almost immediately, already barefoot from his tomfoolery with his brother. Bilbo leaves him to sleep, and heads to bed himself, sparing one last glance out the window as he goes. Kili and Tauriel are sat close together, heads bent close like they speak of secrets that they dare not in the light. The way they are positioned looks intimate, affection in the closeness and simple, relaxed way they lean together, in the tilt of their heads, as they speak softly in the dimness. Bilbo thinks maybe they can make it work after all, if they work hard enough. It will be nice to have someone happy, now and again.  
He sleeps with a smile on his face, and does not dream of Thorin for the first time since they reached the mountain.

Months pass. Seasons change. Tauriel and Kili fall deeper into love, though they do not call it such, and Fili watches his brother with unbridled happiness. Bilbo is content, mostly. He misses Thorin, and he still has nightmares regularly, but he tries to never stay miserable for long. He is wistful, and there is always a nagging pain in his chest, but he tamps it down as much as he can, because it isn't worth throwing his life away over someone who refuses to be helped.  
At least, that is what he tells himself. He doesn't know if he believes it.  
One day, almost six months later, he receives a letter, carried in by a raven that looks beady eyed and intelligent, chirping at the boys almost fondly.  
“What in the..?” He mumbles. Padding over to the windowsill where the raven sits, he holds out a hand and the raven deposits its clawed foot in it gently, and retrieves it once Bilbo has untied the letter from its leg. The boys are fishing at the river, and Tauriel is gardening, an activity that seems to sooth the agony she feels over her banishment, as after the battle, Thranduil did not revoke his sentence. So no one witnesses Bilbo turn pale and swear viciously in his kitchen, with tea on the stove and bread in the oven. No one hears him curse dwarves viciously, or stamp his foot, or smack his hand down on the table in a mixture of frustration and resignation. The raven hops onto the table and regards him curiously. He strokes its beak, and it squawks at him, pleased. He finally feels calmer after a few minutes of this, and drops into a chair. The raven perches on the back of the chair beside him, tilting its head this way and that, and Bilbo laughs as the whistling kettle catches its attention. He gets up, and lifts the kettle from the stove with a tea towel, pouring himself a cup of tea and, after a moments thought, a dish with some water in for the raven.  
“Thirsty?” He asks it, and it squawks once, before dipping its head gracefully and sipping at the water. After his tea is finished, and the raven has tucked its head under its wing and gone to sleep, he has a good, long, hard think about what to say to the boys.  
He doesn't know.

When they finally clatter through the door, holding a basket of fish and chatting merrily in Kazdhül, Bilbo has a rough idea of what to say, but not how to say it, and by the gods he doesn't want to say it, even as he knows he has to. Fili and Kili kick off their boots in the hallway, and shove them against the wall, a habit that irritated Bilbo but now...no, it still irritates him, but he is ever so fond of the brothers, so he ignores it, mostly.  
“Boys.”  
“Bilbo!” Fili turns to him and sets the basket of fish on the table. “For dinner.”  
“Dinner may have to wait for a while.” Bilbo says past the lump in his throat.  
“Bilbo? What's going on?” Kili looks worried, but not apprehensive, and suddenly Bilbo understands why they did it.  
“Boys, you said you were allowed to be here.” He sighs, reluctant to say anything at all.  
“Yes?” Fili frowns, but Bilbo can see the edge of panic creep onto Kili's face.  
He waves the letter at them, and lets them take it to read. Kili reads it out.

“Mr Burglar, I am called Dis, mother of Fili and Kili. I received a raven carrying a letter from my brother, Thorin Oakenshield, saying the Princes had not returned to Erebor after escorting you home to The Shire. He does not know if they are holding you to a promise or if you are preventing their return home, but I would request you send my sons back to their King, as he grows weary of their absence. I wish you good mining, Dis.”

“Oh.” Says Kili in a small voice. His shoulders have dropped, he hangs his head low with shame, and Bilbo is almost sure that his bottom lip is trembling slightly.  
“Mother said you might as well keep us and that she would pick us up on her way to the mountain.” Fili says hopefully. Kili side eyes him.  
“Little Fiddle, you need not lie to me.” Bilbo sighs. “You should have told me, I would have arranged for you to holiday here for a time before returning.” Fili smiles at the nickname. It had stemmed from Bilbo mis-speaking their names one night on the journey to the Shire, tired beyond belief and almost unconscious. “Kiddle and Fiddle”, he had said, and the names had stuck.  
“There's an issue there.” Kili says sadly, glancing at his brother. Bilbo blinks at him.  
“And that would be?” He waits as Kili takes a deep breath.  
“We don't want to go back.”  
Oh.  
“Well, then. That complicates matters.” Bilbo mumbles. He draws circles on the table with his finger, running through possible solutions in his head. None of them have even a chance of working in the slightest, and he sighs. The raven shuffles its wings where it is still asleep on the table.  
“I must confess, my boys, I do not know what to do now. I must reply to your mother's letter, regardless, and I imagine she will not be pleased if you do not return to the mountain.” Bilbo barely refrains from saying home, for as much as he loves having the boys and Tauriel here, it is not their home, and he will not keep them from their kin for long. Kili scuffs his foot against the kitchen tiles, and averts his gaze, and Fili is picking at his thumbnail quietly. Bilbo's heart sinks to his stomach as he watches them. “Perhaps it is best to sleep on it.” He says, unable to bear the look on their faces. They relax infinitesimally, and Bilbo offers a swift topic change. “What shall we have for supper?” Kili and Fili brighten as they begin preparing the fish, bickering over what to do with the potatoes Bilbo brought home last night, as the hobbit gazes at them heavy hearted, thinking of how it will be when they leave, for with Kili, Tauriel will surely go as well, and he will be alone once more.

The morning arrives, and with it, doom and gloom on all counts. Tauriel is ashen, obviously barely a step away from tears, and it is such a difference from her normal composure that Bilbo feels his heart strings pull. She spends much of her time gazing at Kili, and Bilbo assumes she is trying to commit his face to memory, and that Kili does the same in return. Fili has a look of heartbreak on his face all the while, and it is a solemn breakfast indeed as they each drag it out to avoid the topic of leaving. Eventually Tauriel speaks.  
“May I read the letter you received, Bilbo?” Bilbo hands it over wordlessly, and watches as she reads quickly, face dropping with each line. “This arrived yesterday?”  
“Yes, yesterday, around midday.” Bilbo answers her.  
“Boys, your mother resides..?”  
“In the Blue mountains.” Fili replies, eyes sharp. “Why?” Tauriel glances at the dwarf.  
“Because this raven was not sent from the Blue mountains.”  
Bilbo blinks.  
“What? How can you possibly know?”  
“I travelled there once, as an elfling. I became friends with a young girl there, a dwarf by the name of Maré, who worked in the Eyrie. She trained the ravens that are used to carry letters over the span of Middle Earth, and sometimes further. These ravens,” Here Tauriel whistles, and the raven flies to land on the table before her. She chirrups at it, and it stretches out a wing for her. “,Had a barely visible blue tinted stripe down their wing tips, and this raven has none.” She looks up, eyes bright with mystery. “This is a breed of raven from Nenuial.”  
“Lave Evendim? Mother is at Lake Evendim?” Kili sits up from where he had been slumped on the tabletop. “What on earth is she doing there? We have no relatives there, no friends or anyone Mother might see fit to visit.” Tauriel frowns a little.  
“Nenuial is in the path she might take were she to travel here.” She exchanges a brief look with Bilbo, who is tempted to rest his forehead on the oak of his mother's kitchen table, but he resists.  
Fili and Kili, however, do not stay quiet.  
“Mother is coming here?” Fili yelps. Kili leaps up and swears loudly in dwarvish, and Bilbo is glad he does not understand, because Fili's ears turn red and he shoots an incredulous look at his brother. “Kee, you shouldn't say things such as that about Mother. It isn't right.”  
Kili mumbles an apology, and sits back down. Bilbo has a more pressing question than dwarven cursing, however.  
“Tauriel, how long would it take a raven to arrive from Lake Evendim?”  
She considers.  
“A week, I believe.”  
“And how long, assuming the Lady Dis left the day after sending the letter, would it take to travel on foot to our present location?”  
“A fortnight at most.” Bilbo counts silently, and the more he thinks about it, the more he realises that he is about to have a guest.  
“Well then. I believe a visitor will be arriving in a matter of days, then.”  
“Oh my god.” Fili says faintly. Kili is face down on the table, groaning out words made incoherent by the way his face is pressed into his arms.  
“We need to clean.” Bilbo says suddenly. “If I am to have a guest, I must clean. Now.”  
Tauriel rises from her chair gracefully.  
“Do you require my help?” Bilbo considers for a moment.  
“You are not comfortable with such low ceilings, but the front garden needs tending, I imagine.”  
“Very well.” Tauriel smiles at him, and drifts out of the room, running a hand over Kili's head as she passes. Bilbo remembers how shy they were around each other at first, and how they grew more bold the longer they stayed, and how Fili had made it perfectly clear he approves of his brother being happy, after Kili had avoided him for three days straight. Now they are tactile with each other frequently, and Bilbo cannot keep the indulgent smile from his face when they interact. But now is not the time for such thoughts, now is the time for cleaning.  
“I will need help.” Kili raises his head.  
“Happy to help. I need the distraction.” He announces. “Fee, you should help too.”  
Fili nods.  
“What first?” He addresses Bilbo, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he stands.  
“The kitchen.”  
The boys groan in unison. 

Three days later(and yes, it really does take the four of them that long), everything is spotless, all the dishes are sparkling, and Bilbo is exhausted, curled in his armchair after supper, and almost asleep, when someone knocks on the door. He's so tired that he barely opens his eyes as he hauls himself out of his comfort and staggers to the door.  
“If it's Lobelia after my spoons again, I shall write her out of my will.” He grumbles sleepily, and pulls open the door. “Heavens above.” He says simply. Before him stands an unfamiliar dwarf, hood drawn down to reveal features so similar to Thorin that Bilbo has to take a moment to remind himself that Thorin would not leave his treasure, though it takes him long enough that the stranger begins to frown.  
“Oh mercy me, I am so sorry! Please, come in.” Bilbo remembers his manners suddenly, standing aside to allow the stranger passage. He manages to uncurl his fingers from the door where they grip, white knuckled. He takes a deep breath to prepare himself, and shuts the door behind the dwarf. They stand uncertainly in his hallway for a moment, before Bilbo sighs.  
“Would you like a cup of tea, Lady Dis?” The dwarf raises a single eyebrow in surprise, before a smile is revealed within her beard, neatly plaited in an elaborate style that Bilbo finds extremely beautiful.  
“That would be a delight, Burglar.” Her voice is just as gruff as Thorin's, although it is higher in pitch, and softer in tone than Bilbo was expecting; it is more accented, too. He gestures for her to remove her weapons and pack, and hangs her hood carefully on the pegs in his hallway, setting the weapons separately yet still within reach. He waves her through to the kitchen and fishes out his biggest teakettle, filling it with water and setting it on the stove to heat. Then he excuses himself to the pantry, where he proceeds to have a minor breakdown, for he was not expecting Dis for another two days. In the end, he retrieves a plate piled high with scones, and fetches jam and clotted cream left over from breakfast that morning. When he returns, the kettle is whistling, and he sets the food on the table and lifts the kettle from the stove carefully and pours Dis a large cup of tea, smiling at her as she nods in approval.  
“Please, help yourself to scones.” He says politely, setting down two small plates, and knives, too. Dis digs in immediately, obviously hungry, though she is much neater in her table manners than Thorin and the company were. They do not speak until she is sated, asides from to discuss if she would like more tea, which she does. When they finally sit back, stomachs full, with fresh cups of tea, they regard each other for a moment.  
“We weren't expecting you for two days, I'm afraid, so I apologise if this seemed a little...ill prepared.” Bilbo scratches his head bashfully. Dis tilts her head to the side slightly and frowns.  
“I did not tell you I was coming. How could you have known?” Bilbo laughs.  
“That was Tauriel. Heaven only knows how, but she saw the raven you sent, and deduced the species was not from the Blue Mountains. A little mathematics to figure out when you might be arriving, and we cleaned as much as possible, though it did include running around like headless chickens a good amount. Fili and Kili thought you would want to see them as soon as possible.” Despite this not being exactly true, Bilbo knew it was better to say that, than his initial thought, which is that dwarves are impatient.  
“Who is Tauriel?” Dis asks, sipping calmly at her tea.  
Oh no. Bilbo had hoped to postpone this moment. Indefinitely, preferably.  
“She is a friend who accompanied the boys and myself here. She and the boys all stayed.” The art of answering a question without really answering it is a very tricky one, and Bilbo hopes Dis is tired enough that she lets it slide.  
“Another hobbit? I was not aware that you had a companion from home join you on your journey.” She sets her empty teacup down and laces her fingers together. There is no suspicion on her face, and Bilbo curses mentally, before replying.  
“Ah, no. An elf, actually.”  
Dis stills.  
“An elf? The boys did not protest this?” Her face is blank, and Bilbo really hopes she isn't as anti-elf as her brother is.  
“They get along quite well, honestly.” He stares at her as she processes the information.  
“I am glad.” She says eventually. “My brother is biased against the elves in an extreme way, as I am sure you discovered. That my sons made their own minds up about elf-kind pleases me.”  
Bilbo relaxes.  
“Oh, thank goodness.” He breathes out. “I thought you were going to be as ridiculous about the whole thing as Thorin has been.” Dis laughs.  
“My brother does not change his mind easily. It has been this way for decades. You know why he dislike elves as he does?”  
“During the siege upon Erebor, the elves did not help your kind, correct?” He lifts the kettle and fills it again, placing it on the stove to heat.  
“Aye. Thorin was most disheartened. He assumed the mantle of king, though he had no sovereignty, and along with this he decided he despised an entire race. Silly, really.” She smiles sweetly. “I must confess, when Thorin told me he was going after the mountain, I thought it was...ill-advised. But really, it seems to have worked out rather well.”  
Bilbo frowns, open his mouth to speak, and closes it again, all in the same breath. Dis watches him repeat this twice more, before she scowls, looking exactly like her brother.  
“Spit it out, burglar.”  
“Has no one told you?” He asks; she might just be in denial. Dis raises an eyebrow and leans forward.  
“Told me what?”  
“Oh my, how to phrase it...” Bilbo mutters, ignoring the mental images of Thorin pushing his nephews away and the cruel look on his face. He takes a moment to compose himself, breathing in and closing his eyes, and curses softly.  
“Thorin is suffering from dragon sickness.” He tells her, and keeps his eyes closed for a beat more, before he opens his eyes to gauge her reaction.

It is not at all like she has been turned to stone; dwarves have always reminded him of boulders stitched whole with gravel. It is not like she has been buried; dwarves are perfectly happy underground.  
It is like Dis has been set on fire and burns without a sound, like the trees where the Pale Orc had caught up with the company on their journey. Bilbo sees smoke in her heart, ash in her hands and flames spitting in her eyes.  
She does not speak for several minutes yet, and her hands tremble like the earth is dropping out from under her. When she finally does speak, it isn't at all what Bilbo expected her to say.  
“I shall cut Dwalin's head off with my axe.” He blinks.  
“What?”  
“He wrote to me, several months ago, saying that all are happy and though Thorin is busy, he bids me join him as soon as possible. This was a letter containing the letter Thorin had written about my sons remaining here.”  
“He lied to you.” Bilbo surmises. Dis smiles grimly.  
“Yes, he did.” Bilbo sniffs.  
“Would you like more tea?” Dis smiles, a proper one this time, although laced with worry.  
“I don't suppose you have something a little stronger?”She asks.  
“...There is mead in the pantry.” Bilbo confesses, knowing full well what she will say.

Needless to say, Kili and Fili are beyond puzzled when they return to discover their mother, whom they have not seen in over a year, laughing with a hobbit, both drunker than Mirkwood elves. Dis smiles bemusedly at her boys, too inebriated to be angry, and gestures clumsily at the mostly empty mugs of mead on the table.  
“Menu gajatu.” She proclaims loudly, and as Fili and Kili share a confused look, she falls off her chair with a crash.  
“She forgives us? She isn't going to forgive herself when she wakes up.” Fili whispers, staring at the prone dwarf of Bilbo's kitchen tiles.  
Bilbo giggles tipsily, laying his head down on the table, and passes out, not noticing when Kili carries him to his bed as Fili does the same for his mother.  
He very much regrets waking up in the morning. The noon sun shines past his curtains and pierces his skull. He feels like Sting has been pushed through his eye socket, and he is half tempted to roll over and press his face into his pillow, go back to sleep and forsake the day. But he has a guest, so out of bed he gets, pulling on clothes and washing his face. Stumbling through to his kitchen, he is puzzled to find Fili and Kili cooking, and Tauriel and Dis sit at the table, apparently discussing the best way get rid of weeds.  
“Good morning, Bilbo.” Fili grins, from his place at the stove, frying bacon.  
“...Good morning.” Bilbo says after a moment, sitting at the table next to Tauriel.  
“Would you like tea, Bilbo?” Kili offers, waving a spoon.  
“Thank you, please.” Bilbo melts into his chair when Kili says the word tea, and suddenly it is all he can think of. Dis smiles at him from over her own teacup, looking entirely too chipper with how much she drank the night before. When Kili sets down his tea, Tauriel sprinkles something in it, and he drinks anyway, trusting her judgement, whatever the herb is. She is hardly likely to poison him, after all. As he drinks, his headache eases, and he shoots her a grateful look. She smiles gently at him, and keeps conversing with Dis. They seem to be getting along remarkably well, from what Bilbo has seen, and for this he is glad.  
“Boys, have you spoken with your mother?” Bilbo asks, after his third round of bacon and fourth cup of tea.  
Kili and Fili nod in unison, looking far too cheerful for two boys who have likely been ordered away from their happiness. Dis smirks into her teacup, and mutters something which Bilbo does not understand, though the boys laugh, and to his surprise, Tauriel does also.  
“You speak Khuzdȗl?” Fili's mouth hangs open, and Kili elbows him.  
“Kili has been teaching me.” Tauriel says quietly. “Uzbadu men U gamut aglametk nuzuh.” Kili smiles so widely Bilbo thinks he will hurt himself.  
“My son is an excellent teacher of languages, is he?” Dis chuckles.  
“She is a brilliant student.” Kili compliments, and Tauriel's high cheekbones tinge pink slightly. Bilbo's heart turns to a little puddle of joy in his chest at their bashfulness.  
“You know what must happen next, Kee.” Fili grins.  
“What?” Kili turns to look at his brother.  
“You have to learn elvish.” Fili shoots his sibling an evil look.  
“Manka lle merna ta, hanar.” Kili looks absolutely smug as his brother's eyes widen.  
“What did you say?” He demands.  
“That you smell like a goblin's...”  
“Hey!”  
Kili is cut off by Fili's indignant shout.  
“He said 'if you wish it, brother'.” Tauriel says to Fili. To Kili she says, “Your accent could use a little work, A'maelamin.” Kili's eyes soften at what is obviously an endearment, though no one but the two know what it means. His mother watches the pair carefully, a tiny wrinkle between her brows.  
“I believe we are off topic slightly, boys. You were going to tell me what you talked about with your mother?” Bilbo prompts. Kili grins, at that.  
“We can stay...” He glances at Fili, who finishes the sentence for him.  
“...If Mother can, too.” Dis nods firmly, and Bilbo is so pleased that he throws his arms around Dis. After a moment of shock, she closes her arms gently around him.  
“You can stay. All of you can stay. Please stay.” He babbles, and Tauriel laughs as he squeaks out excited phrases in a particularly incoherent way. When Bilbo finally lets go of Dis, she looks pleased, and she ruffles his curls affectionately, not unlike Thorin used to. He swallows hard, and ignores the thought.  
“What shall we have for lunch?” He asks, and chuckles as the boys devolve into a debate about types of soup. Dis and Tauriel strike up a conversation about, as far as Bilbo can tell, types of potato and the ways they taste in different recipes.  
He makes himself another cup of tea and sinks back down onto his chair, and relaxes, surrounded by happy chatter.

Days flit by, then weeks, and months. Dis and Tauriel harvest their potatoes, and they cook them in a beautiful rabbit stew, Kili becomes more or less fluent in elvish, and Tauriel masters dwarvish and whispers with Dis in corners in a very non elf-like manner. Fili learns to cook, and as times passes, Bilbo convinces himself to forget about his fear for Thorin(he does not forget). Five months after Dis arrived, Bilbo realises that the boys and Tauriel have been his house guests for an entire year, and bakes several seedcakes(they all love it, and will consume large quantities if given the chance) to celebrate. Dis smiles as Kili and Fili dance around, and tells them they look completely ridiculous while they do so, which they do. Tauriel teaches them an elven jig, and they get spectacularly drunk. They do not make it to bed that night, instead collapsing happy on the living room floor, laden with blankets like children.  
When the doorbell rings in the morning, Bilbo ties on his patchwork robe, and grumps all the way to the door, noting that he really must stop answering the door hungover and in his bedclothes. Figuring it is a neighbour here to complain about the noise from last night, he opens the door with his eyes still mostly closed, he yawns widely and blearily gazes at his visitor.  
“Oh.”  
Thorin stands on his doorstep, hair streaked with dirt, and boots worn almost through. He hefts his pack on his shoulder, and could not look less like a king if he tried.  
Neither of them speak for a long moment, and as the seconds tick away, Thorin looks more and more miserable. Finally Bilbo clears his throat and breathes in shakily, trying to hold back the tears that threatened the second he saw Thorin.

“You did not lose your way, this time, then?” Bilbo asks softly, still unsure of how Thorin will treat him. He does not look like he did in the mountain, but the hobbit cannot be sure that he is cured until the dwarf speaks. He was not expecting Thorin, though he cannot lie, he is glad he is here. He worries about him, though he has tried not to.  
It has not worked.  
“I think I lost my way a long time before I left the mountain. Before we reached it, even.” Thorin sounds wrecked already, despite only having been stood on Bilbo's doorstep for mere moments. Bilbo swallows around the lump in his throat. He is here, that is enough.  
“I think you have found the path again, Thorin. Now you just have to follow it.” He makes eye contact with the dwarven king tentatively, and is surprised to see him crying silently.  
“Bilbo, I have acted just like the worm that took my home, and yet you stand before me letting me back into your life, giving me your friendship. I did not expect forgiveness, or kindness. Yet you offer it anyway. If all were as you are, the world would truly be paradise.” He draws a shuddering breath, and Bilbo can't keep from embracing him any longer; the desire has been there since the door opened. He launches himself at Thorin, who catches him deftly despite being caught off guard, and they hold each other for a long moment. Bilbo's heart finally settles in his chest, after months and months of fraught, tension filled worrying, missing him, scared and far away, with no way to help his friend.  
Now all that is in his head is the feel of Thorin's arms around his back like steel bands softened by a forge, the scent of him in his nose, travel weary and still smelling like rock like he always has, and the feel of the dwarf's braids tickling his neck as they press together. Bilbo sniffles quietly, and buries his face further into Thorin's neck.  
“I am so very glad you are here.” He whispers. Thorin tightens his arms and presses his face to the top of Bilbo's head.  
“I am glad I came. I am glad that I came to my senses, though I regret that it was you leaving that did it. I regret a lot of things, and I am glad for an awful lot more. I am glad you are my friend, most of all.” Thorin's voice rumbles through Bilbo's chest, and he smiles contentedly.  
“Come inside, Thorin. You have family to apologise to, I think.” Thorin shoulders his pack determinedly, and steps inside. He smiles as Bilbo closes the big round door behind him, and lays his hand on his arm.  
“Come on.” Bilbo takes his pack from him, hangs it next to Dis's hood(which Thorin has not noticed), and urges him into the living room, where his family members are just waking up and Tauriel sleeps on peacefully, curled next to Kili sweetly.  
“What in Durin's name..?” Thorin trails off as Dis sits up, stretching sleepily. Then he laughs, shaking his head. “No, of course she is here, too.”  
“Took you long enough, brother.” Dis snaps. Then she leaps up swiftly, and headbutts him(it does not look gentle, though Thorin later assures him it is). The siblings embrace, and Bilbo stands awkwardly off to the side.  
When Fili stands, Thorin lets his sister go, and she stands with Bilbo, arms crossed over her chest.  
“Uncle Thorin.” Fili says, face empty of emotion.  
“I am a fool.” Thorin blurts.  
“Yes, you are.”  
“I have behaved like...like an orc.”  
“Yes, you have.”  
“I am sorry, Fee.” Thorin looks wild in the eyes, desperate for his nephew to forgive him.  
“I know.” Fili says simply, and holds his arms out as Kili watches from his spot next to Tauriel, who is now awake, though not alert at all. Thorin squashes his nephew to his chest, and Fili returns the hug just as tightly. “You are rock brained, Uncle. But you are our family, and we will not forsake you.”  
Kili smooths a hand over Tauriel's hair, and gets up.  
“The gold smelled of dragon after all, then.” Thorin lets loose a deep laugh and Kili jumps at his uncle, gripping his shoulders hard.  
“Kee, can't breathe.” Thorin gasps eventually. Kili lets him go, and smiles at Tauriel, who is watching intently, finally fully awake.  
“Gazardul menu ked gamelu pethem.” She says. “Well met, King under the Mountain.”  
“Well met, elf.” Thorin does not look as hostile towards Tauriel as he used to, though the suspicion of her race is still present in his eyes. The six of them stand awkwardly in Bilbo's living room, until the home owner sighs loudly and mutters about 'stubborn socially backward dwarves' and pads out of the room to the kitchen. After a moment, Tauriel brushes a hand over Kili's shoulder and follows Bilbo, not even bothering to make it look like she isn't leaving the family to sort out their issues in private. An apology does not a good relationship make, unfortunately.  
For three hours, Tauriel and Bilbo loiter in the kitchen, distracting themselves first with baking bread, and then with quietly working on the map of Mirkwood that Bilbo had asked her for aid with weeks ago. They hear raised voices many a time, a few tears, and other than that, mostly quiet conversation. They don't eavesdrop, as far as possible, so when Thorin comes and sits at the table with a bright red mark on his cheek, Bilbo is agog.  
“What happened?” He sets his quill pen down carefully, and leaps out of his chair, leaving Tauriel to finish sketching out the far western edge of Mirkwood with the piece of charcoal he had fished from the fireplace.  
“I told Dis to stop worrying.”  
“Ah.” Bilbo is suddenly amused, and is reminded of how much Dis reminded him of Thorin, showing up at his door all those months ago. “If it is any consolation, I believe Dwalin will be getting the worse end of the deal when Dis gets her hands on him.” Thorin snorts.  
“Don't I know it. She spent half an hour ranting about him.” Bilbo flutters his fingers across the hand print on Thorin's cheek, and Thorin swallows and blinks at him.  
“I'll fetch some ice water.” He says softly. “Be right back.” He turns to leave, and swivels right back around again. “Thorin?”  
“Mm?” Bilbo smiles flintily.  
“Stay.”  
He leaves the room, leaving Thorin looking surprised and Tauriel grinning into her shoulder so the king doesn't see. Swiping a cloth from the drawer on his way outside, he goes to the creek at the end of the garden and dips it in the cold water. It is winter again, and he shivers as his hand submerges.

When he returns, Dis and the boys are sitting at the table, and Tauriel is still working on the map. The mark on Thorin's face is as angry looking as it was five minutes ago, and Bilbo presses the cloth to it gleefully, making Thorin yelp in shock at the temperature.  
Dis bumps her fist against Bilbo's, an old dwarf tradition when mischief is afoot. She taught it to him the first time Kili and Fili had pulled a prank. Thorin glares pathetically from beneath the cloth, and Bilbo pats him on the uninjured cheek.  
“There there, Thorin. All is well.” The teasing helps Bilbo ignore the feel of Thorin's skin under his palm, helps him to ignore the roughness of his beard tickling his fingers as he pulls away, and to pretend he has not seen the look in Thorin's eyes at the affectionate pat.  
As it is, he feels a small flutter in his gut as Thorin's eyes follow him when he puts the kettle on to boil. Kili and Fili smirk in unison at each other, but no one else sees, and when Bilbo pours everyone tea, they bury their expressions in the hot liquid. A comfortable silence rests over the six of them, and they sip tea quietly as Tauriel works on the map, and Dis appears to doze peacefully in between cups. At some point, Bilbo quietly heaves himself out of his chair and makes sandwiches, a healthy stack of them, which they demolish in next to no time at all.  
They fall asleep, all of them, and snore right through dinner, right until the next morning, and wake up with stiff necks and grumbling bellies.  
“Heavens above.” Bilbo mutters when he sees the time, and pokes the boys awake, leaving Dis, Thorin and Tauriel to sleep a little longer.  
“Wassat?” Kili slurs, still mostly asleep. “B'bo?”  
“Help me make breakfast, you two.” He smiles, and ruffles their hair affectionately as they yawn at him and blink sleep from their eyes.  
“'Kay.” Fili hauls Kili up by his collar, and leaning on each other, they stumble to the stove and clatter about noisily.  
Only Tauriel wakes at the noise, though Bilbo suspects she awoke as soon as Kili did, and as for Dis and Thorin, they could likely sleep through a mountain collapsing.  
After breakfast, Bilbo retreats with Tauriel to the garden, and lets the dwarves go about repairing their bond through action rather than words. (They go hunting. Rabbits. Lots of rabbits. Bilbo can make stew for days.)

A week later, Thorin starts making noise about returning to the mountain. He appears heavily reluctant, but it is his duty, after all, and his own desires to stay are over-ridden by it.

Cue the arguments, mostly from Kili. Fili seems to recognise that as first born, he must go back, though it is the last thing he wants to do.  
But Kili refuses to leave.  
“I am the second born son, I have no place in the mountain!” He shouts one afternoon. “I have no desire to return, no one to go back to, and if you force me to leave I will resent you for as long as I live!” He storms off, and they all pretend not to notice Tauriel follow him silently, long legs eating up the distance between them.  
Thorin sighs heavily, and rests his head in his hands.  
“That elf has brainwashed him, blinded him from his duty.” He growls. Bilbo glares at him.  
“If you truly think that, then you are lesser than a mountain troll, Thorin Oakenshield.” He snaps, and stomps indoors, throwing the door closed and cursing quietly.  
He thought Thorin had come to his senses.  
Apparently not.  
They all shun Thorin that evening, and he sulks persistently, eventually going to bed early. Bilbo scowls and finishes his dinner, muttering unkind things under his breath whilst Dis does the same in Khuzdȗl and Fili looks worried for his brother, who still has not returned.

Bilbo, Dis, and Thorin are all in bed, yet Fili waits for his brother and Tauriel to return. He sits with his elbows on the kitchen table, and every time he hears a noise, he leaps up to see if it is his sibling.  
When eventually they do come back, they take tea into the garden with them almost immediately, though Kili bumps foreheads with him as he leaves. Their faces are brushed with sorrow, and Fili feels his heart clench unhappily. Making his decision swiftly, he stands and sneaks stealthily after the pair as they sit on the beautifully carved bench in the garden. The stars twinkle in the sky, and Tauriel sends them a longing look, as though they can solve all her troubles and banish sadness. Kili makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat, drawing the elf's attention immediately.  
“I don't want to leave you, Tauriel.” The dwarf is quiet, almost non verbal, as he slouches where he sits, one hand covering his face. The words are muffled, and he sighs deeply, his shoulders dropping almost imperceptibly. Tauriel squeezes his shoulder, sadness set deep into the planes of her face.  
“You must, Kili. You are a prince, and you must go home.” Her voice hitches slightly, and she takes a deep breath to steady herself. “Though for what it is worth, I would rather not have you go.”  
Kili leans into her touch, gazing up at her seriously.  
“I am not going home, A'maelamin. I am leaving it, rather.”  
A tear falls from Tauriel's lashes, landing on her tunic. Kili lifts a hand and wipes the wetness away, with his thumb, before pressing their foreheads together. They sit like that for long moments in the moonlight, breath intermingling in the warm air, and when they finally part, both of them sport damp cheeks. Tauriel lifts her hand to Kili's face, and he presses a soft kiss to her palm. They look at each other for a long second, swaying closer together.  
Then she is gone in a whirl of red hair, and Kili is left alone on the bench, staring after her like she takes his heart with her.  
Kili curses harshly in Khuzdȗl, and stands swiftly, clearly undecided for a moment. Then he disappears after Tauriel, vanishing into the shadows, an almost frantic look on his face.

Fili sighs shakily from his hiding place, and rubs a hand over his face wearily. His brother is hurting and he doesn't know how to help. He does not think his uncle will allow the elf to return to the mountain with them, yet Kili is refusing to part from her.  
It is an impossible situation, he thinks. He retreats to his room and flops face down on the bed, meaning to figure out how to cheer Kili up. He falls asleep, instead, and wakes in the morning with no more of an idea than he did last night. Padding into the kitchen, he finds Kili and Tauriel, pressed close together, looks of immeasurable sadness on their faces.  
“Kee.” He says, his brother barely glances at him. “Kee, I am so sorry. I have tried to change Uncle's mind, but he is immovable.”  
He had, too. The majority of yesterday had been spent trying to convince the king that Kili is happy with Tauriel, happy here, and that he does not need to return to the mountain with them. Thorin had merely shaken his head and said some deeply unpleasant things in Khuzdȗl, things that Fili is glad Kili was not there to hear.  
Bilbo was furious. The growing affection between the hobbit and his Uncle has been halted by Thorin's deep hatred of elvenkind, and the hobbit had nearly strangled the dwarf upon the revelation.  
The memory of Bilbo's fury makes Fili shiver. He hadn't known someone that small could put the fear of gods into him. And his anger wasn't even directed at him!  
Tauriel clenches her hands in Kili's shirt, shifting where she kneels. Fili's heart breaks a little more at the way his brother leans even closer to her, resting his face on her head and dropping a tiny kiss on the crown.  
Fili straightens up.  
“I'm going to ask Bilbo to talk to Uncle.” He decides abruptly. “If anyone can change his mind, it's him.” He spares a glance at his brother as he leaves, and vows to keep that look of hopelessness off his face if it's the last thing he ever accomplishes.

He finds Bilbo in the garden, furiously puffing on his pipe and scowling at the daffodils like they personally offend him.  
“Bilbo?” The hobbit looks up, a look of resignation on his face, like he already knows what Fili is going to say.  
“Hello, Little Fiddle.” He says quietly, and blows a smoke ring into the wind. Fili sits down next to him on the bench, and they watch the smoke dissolve into nothing.  
“Will you talk to him?” Fili says eventually.  
Bilbo is silent for a long moment, before he sighs.  
“If I can refrain from strangling the great brute, yes. Though I do not know if it will do any good.” The hobbit sets his pipe down on his knee. Fili claps him on the shoulder gently. Somehow, despite everything he has seen Bilbo do, he is always afraid that the small creature will break.  
“I think you are the only one who can get through to him.” Fili admits. Bilbo pins him with a curious stare, and Fili groans inwardly.  
Of course Bilbo doesn't know.  
“Why? Why not you, or your mother?” The hobbit has not yet looked away, and Fili curses.  
“Because he only loves us as kin.” The young dwarf mumbles. The look of shock on Bilbo's face makes him smile, briefly, before the expression fades.  
“What?” Bilbo squeaks. “What?”  
Fili groans.  
“You are telling me that you do not see the way he looks at you?”  
“He does not look at me in any particular way at all!” The hobbit yelps almost desperately.  
Ah. He has noticed.  
“Yes, he does. Bilbo, you cannot tell me you do not see it!”  
“Of course I see it!” Bilbo snaps. Then he slumps. “Of course I see it.”  
Fili glances at him.  
“And...how do you feel about it?” He asks softly, almost holding his breath. Bilbo looks at him scathingly.  
“I cannot believe you are asking me that question.” He mutters, almost to himself. “You have to know.”  
“Talk to him? Please? I truly think you can get him to change his mind.” Fili pleads. Bilbo sighs heavily, a blush still staining his cheeks.  
“If he won't listen I shall behead him with his own weapon.” The hobbit mutters tetchily, but he stands and puts out his pipe, scowling all the while.  
“I will help.” Fili feels such a flood of relief at Bilbo's promise of aid that he nearly falls over.  
Bilbo storms off to find Thorin, and give him yet another piece of his mind, only half way to finding him, he stops, and considers Fili's earlier words.  
Thorin does look at him differently, he knows, yet he had not put all the pieces together until Fili had pointed it out. The dwarf looks at him like a flower too delicate to touch for fear of breaking its petals, like he is incapable of handling a small object with care.  
Really, the pair of them are just like Tauriel and Kili were near the beginning of their courtship, and Bilbo...  
Bilbo has an idea.

When he finds Thorin, the king is in one of the guest bedrooms, lying on the bed on his back, hands laced behind his head, a scowl on his face.  
“Thorin?”  
The king turns his head and raises an eyebrow.  
“Are you here to shout at me?” He says dryly. Bilbo laughs softly.  
“No, actually.” Thorin looks at him properly at that, propping himself up on an elbow.  
“Thorin, if I were an elf, would you still be my friend?” Bilbo asks. He sits down next to Thorin's legs.  
“Of course, if you were still you.” Thorin sounds relaxed, nearly asleep.  
“And if Tauriel, were say, a hobbit? You would not hate her.”  
“Mm.” Thorin agrees sleepily.  
“So you agree that it does not matter that she is an elf. That Kili is allowed to love her, because if you love me and do not care what manner of creature I am, then it should be the same for your family, your subjects?” Bilbo takes a deep breath, heart pattering in his chest, rabbit like.  
Thorin sits up.  
“Bilbo?”  
“Fili opened my eyes a little. The way you look at me is not in the manner of just a friend, Thorin.” He chances a look at the dwarf. His eyes are wide, but not in shock. What Bilbo is saying is not a surprise to him, not in the slightest. Bilbo tilts his head and considers.  
“Bilbo, the way I feel about you should not influence your opinion on the matter.” Thorin says carefully, mouth all twisted under his beard.  
“Oh, you silly idiot. Did you think I did not love you in return?” Bilbo is halfway through muttering about how Thorin is a rock-brained idiot when he feels a mouth on his own, cutting him off. He sinks into it, slipping a hand into Thorin's hair and gripping a handful loosely.  
They pull away, and lean into each other affectionately.  
“Now that that's out in the open...” Bilbo laughs. “Do you not think you ought to allow Kili the same happiness?”  
“You are very stubborn, burglar.” Thorin rumbles, and Bilbo can feel it all the way down to his hairy toes. “But I do agree with you. It is not just you whose eyes have been opened, it seems.”  
“You will allow Kili and Tauriel to remain here?” Bilbo whispers.  
“Kili is still a prince, Bilbo. He must return to the mountain.” Bilbo opens his mouth to protest, but Thorin continues. “But Tauriel may come with us to the mountain, if she wishes. She can stay with Kili. He deserves happiness, you are right.” Thorin rests his head on top of Bilbo's.  
A thought occurs to Bilbo just then, a thought that is not a pleasant one.  
“And what of us? I do not want to leave the Shire again, and you cannot leave the mountain. What are we going to do, Thorin?” Bilbo swallows past the sudden lump in his throat.  
Thorin takes a long time to answer, but when he does his voice trembles.  
“I do not know.”

As predicted, the news of Thorin's change of heart is well received by all, and Kili cries in his happiness, yet Bilbo and Thorin still do not have a solution for their own predicament.  
It is Fili who unexpectedly solves the problem for them.  
“If Uncle spends six months at the mountain, teaching me how to rule and doing so himself, and six months with you, Bilbo, would that work? And then once I am ready to take over properly, Uncle could come here and stay with you permanently.” He grins smugly.  
“What of the journey? It takes months.” Bilbo frets. Fili grins even harder, and waves a hand casually.  
“You befriended the eagles, did you not? I am sure they would not mind making the journey.”  
Thorin and Bilbo stare, while Dis looks on proudly.  
“Spoken like a true king, my boy.” She says, and draws him in for a gentle head butt.  
“Thorin?” Bilbo is holding his breath, waiting for an answer.  
Thorin kisses him in response.  
All is well.

 

 

Many months later, the Arkenstone sits in its rightful place in the hollow of the dwarven throne, and Thorin is lazing about in Bilbo's garden, pipe clamped between his teeth, while a blond dwarf sits on the throne and his brother smiles at a red haired elf in a mountain that still smells faintly of dragon, and likely will for a long time. The eagles are more than happy to play steed, as long as Bilbo gives them his infamous seed cakes as payment.  
The boys and Tauriel are visiting next month, Dis the month after that, and Thorin is already speaking of relinquishing the throne to Fili.  
“He's ready.” He says one night, nose pressed into Bilbo's collarbone. “I'm ready.” He continues, after a pause. “You sure you want me here forever then? I steal the covers. I’m reliably informed I snore. I always burn the bacon.” He sounds vulnerable, hopeful, happy.  
Bilbo kisses him gently, so gently, in reply, and their laughter mixes with their tears. They retreat to bed and do not answer the door when Lobelia knocks to harass them for the third time that week.  
Kili and Tauriel wed, and Bilbo flies out for the wedding ceremony. Thorin cries.  
Fili settles down with a beautiful dwarven lady by the name of Aurelia, and they have beautiful children, princes and princesses. They love their Uncles very much, and Bilbo is equally smitten, bouncing the small blonde children on his knee.  
Bilbo and Thorin live in the Shire quietly, happily, for a long time, and Bilbo forgets about the ring entirely, and does not remember it until many years later when he stumbles across it in an envelope in his trunk, when his nephew is all grown up and Thorin has been dead for near a decade.

 

The story continues.


End file.
